No beetling precipice, of which she ever heard, had fallen and crushed so much as the sheep feeding in the valleys.

To the power of the hills as to the power of the seas, Someone had said, Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.
And the Hand that could uphold a mountain in its place, was the Hand that had guided her--one little foolish, helpless girl, out of millions and millions of creatures for whom He was caring--in the wanderings of an uneasy sleep that night.
There was a great awe and a great joy in this thought; but sharp upon it came another, as a pleasure is followed by a sudden pain,--a thought that came all unbidden, and talked with Gypsy, and would not go away.

It was, that she had gone to bed that night without a prayer.

She was tired and sleepy, and the lamp went out, and so,--and so,--well, she didn't know exactly how it came about.
Gypsy's bowed head fell into her hands, and there, crouched in the lonely boat, under the lonely sky, she put this thought into a few whispered words, and I know there was One to hear it.
Other thoughts had Gypsy after this; but they were those she could not have put into words.

For three of those solemn, human syllables had sounded from the distant clock, and far over the mountain-tops the sweet summer dawn was coming.